


The Nature of the Beast

by JavaJowgie



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Caretaking, Eventual Smut, Hunters & Hunting, Injury, M/M, Mild Gore, Romance, Slow Burn, Werewolf!Sebastian, ciel swears a lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:28:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26279440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JavaJowgie/pseuds/JavaJowgie
Summary: “I’ll be fine,” he repeated, his tone growing a little more stern, “The guards are too busy in town to bother with me, anyway. I’ll be home in a few hours. I’m just going to get a small deer, maybe a few pheasants. It’s alright. It’s not like my poaching is hurting anybody.” Ciel gave his mother a wry smile, running his fingers over the leather grip of his bow before swinging it over his shoulder. “I’ll be back.”The forest is full of unpredictable terrors.
Relationships: Sebastian Michaelis/Ciel Phantomhive
Comments: 23
Kudos: 72





	1. The Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome all fantasy freaks to my extremely self-indulgent au! I really hope yall like it as much as I do! I fell in love with my kinkmas fic Wolfsbane and Sutures and I had the urge to write a full au for the boys
> 
> Thank you so so much, Wuss and Griever for being my betas, I love you both ;-;

“Mother, I’ll be fine, I promise. This isn’t anything new, why are you so worked up this time?”

Rachel stared at her son with pleading, shining blue eyes, almost wet with tears. “The king ordered…” she trailed off, stroking her palm over her son’s cheek. “I worry.”

“I’m fast enough to evade any guards I see, okay?”

“I know, my little fox.”

Ciel ignored the pet name. He’s older now and had far outgrown the name _little fox_ bestowed upon him from childhood. He always had a knack for nimbleness and ability to hide seemingly in plain sight. It was the upside to having such a small stature. 

He sighed and gently took her hand from his face. “I’ll be fine,” he repeated, his tone growing a little more stern, “The guards are too busy in town to bother with me, anyway. I’ll be home in a few hours.”

She worried too much. He had to tell her dozens of times he’d be alright. It was always like this.

“Are you sure?” she asked again, holding her now-closed fist to her chest, clutching her silver locket. Her sister, Ann, lay a hand on her shoulder and smiled at her nephew. 

It was only recently that the king had set a new law on poaching. Violators of his new order would be executed, and even the thought of losing her baby would kill her. 

“I’m just going to get a small deer, maybe a few pheasants. It’s alright. I’m not going after the King’s precious bucks or mammoths. It’s not like my poaching is hurting anybody.” Ciel gave her a wry smile, running his fingers over the leather grip of his bow before swinging it over his shoulder. “I’ll be back.”

He waved to his mother and aunt, turning on his heel once he assured his mother for the thousandth time that he’d be safe, and made his way down the cobblestone city road. He waved to folks he knew before coming to the front gate. Ciel gave his reason for leaving town, and the guard simply smiled at him before allowing him through. Nearly everyone had to explain why they were entering or leaving the city.

He padded down the small incline the entrance to the city was on, passing by perhaps a dozen more guards, until the walls around him came to an abrupt stop to welcome him into the open land. But before he could revel in the relief of being free, his eyes caught a welcome sight: a small camp set up outside the walls, right across from the stables. A bonfire to keep out the chill sat in the very middle; the camp’s occupants tended to their own things and merchandise, and one was using a tanning rack, scraping a deer’s pelt clean.

The merchant caravans often made camp outside his city, but he hadn’t seen them for some time, most likely due to the dangerous roads. A quick stop wouldn’t hurt.

Ciel wandered into the small setup after catching the eye of the merchant, a man that hailed from the southern part of the continent known for its jungles and deserts, home to the cat-folk. He was always kind, and never hesitated to share stories of his homeland or wisdom from all of his years wandering the continent. 

The man, Ri’saad, smiled at him, his eyes crinkling and charcoal ears flicking with delight when Ciel approached him. “Welcome, my young friend. How may I serve you this time?”

“I’m out for a hunt,” Ciel said simply. “Pantry’s running low.”

Ri’saad raised a brow. “Very dangerous, no? With the silly poaching decree?”

“Maybe,” Ciel replied with a smile of his own, taking a seat in the grass in front of the merchant, crossing his legs to mimic him. “I need fresh food, though, and good meat from the market is getting pricey, especially with the end of winter.”

He didn’t seem too concerned, unlike Ciel’s family. “I see… you have your weapon, and the tools to bring the kill back home, yes?”

Ciel nodded, “I wouldn’t leave without them.”

“How about something more… tricky?”

“Tricky?”

Ri’saad’s smile grew, and Ciel could see the hint of a fang from beneath his dark lips. The man raised a clawed finger in a gesture for Ciel to wait, and stood, his long, fluffy tail brushing his mat. He peeled back the lip of his tent and rummaged around for a few moments before emerging with a small, red vial. He sat back down and held it in front of Ciel’s eyes. Liquid sloshed around inside when he shook it a little. “Poison. Made from Nirnroot, nightshade, deathbell, and red mountain flowers. Concocted with love and ill intent in Riften.”

Ciel’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Won’t that—”

The cat cut him off matter-of-factly. “The deer here are skittish, you understand. A bit of this upon your arrows, and it will make your hunt much quicker, if you get my meaning. And it won’t hurt the meat.”

“It won’t?” Ciel took the vial in his hands, inspecting the hastily-crafted red glass. “Where’d you learn that?” He always thought putting poison on arrows would prevent most of the meat from being able to be consumed safely. He might have been wrong.

Ri’saad leaned in closer to him, his ears twitching playfully, “A kindly elf in Cyrodiil let me in on his family secret. Promise you won’t tell others?”

The boy couldn’t help but giggle. “Promise.”

Ciel paid for his merchandise and thanked the old cat for his advice before tucking his new secret leather loop sewed at his hip for easy access, not waiting a moment longer before venturing out where he was meant to go. 

A happy sigh left his lips as his boots padded along rough cobblestone and dirt, glad to finally be free from the grasp of his aunt and mother. The place had become nearly suffocating being cooped up in a house with two paranoid women. Ever since his father passed, his mother’s grip grew tighter and Aunt Ann volunteered to move in; they hardly let Ciel out of their sight. Their constant gazes were like shackles on his ankles.

The only excuse he had to leave was hunting. So hunt he did. But even that was limited since the king’s new decree a month or so ago.

Ciel inhaled the fresh air, drawing it deep into his lungs. The sweet scents of wildflowers and grasses made him feel free and at _peace,_ their fragrances clinging to his senses as he continued onward. He made his way from the city limits and veered off the beaten path, stepping through tall grass until he reached the edge of the treeline, where the forest began. He looked around carefully, keen eyes scanning the surrounding landscape for any life besides the occasional animal.

None in sight. Good.

He stepped in, avoiding a fallen tree stump littered with beetles. 

All he needed was some peace and quiet for a while. He’d track down something to bring back home to salt and store for later; their meat storage was growing small since winter had just ended, and what fruits and vegetables they had spoiled rather quickly.

A smile grew on his face as he traversed through woodland. He knew this forest like the back of his hand. He no longer needed to leave markers to find his way home; instead, he identified specific fallen logs or odd rock formations. It wasn’t like it’d be a travesty if he got lost, anyway… any cities or towns were only a few hours’ walk away. He wouldn’t mind the journey. He knew how to defend himself if any unsavories caused him any trouble. Cutthroats were stupid and bad with weapons… He was too skilled to be duped by any of those types.

Ciel hummed a tune to himself, low and under his breath, stepping over rocks and twigs and crunching grass beneath his tall boots. He didn’t need to rush to find his prey; even if the sun began to set, his eyesight was keen as ever. He took his damn sweet time to just… be free. To revel in the nature that the gods created. He breathed in the many fragrances of the great outdoors and squinted his big blue eyes against the sun shafts streaming through the thick trees. The air was mild and lacked the cold chill of winter; nature and all of its wonders finally began to thaw now, and animals came from their nests to rebuild their pantries. Sadly not much could grow well in winter like snowberries could.

He wandered, and wandered, keeping an eye out for any good prey, though stooping down to pick any herbs for his studies, or berries for dinner every few minutes or so.

Then he saw his opportunity. A fat pheasant, brightly colored and happily clucking about a few yards away from him, blissfully unaware.

Ciel smiled to himself and drew his bow from over his shoulder, quiet as can be, and dropped down on one knee. His breeches made no noise against the grasses and fallen leaves. He considered using his poison, but decided against it, as this was too small of prey to bother. He silently drew an arrow from his quiver and skillfully nocked it back and leveled it perfectly before he lined up his shot, drawing the string back until it grazed his cheek.

One breath… deeply inhaled, and quietly exhaled.

A shot. But not from him. 

Growling? No… grunting? Claws. Running. Ciel stayed quiet and hunkered down, pressing himself against the tree that supported his angle. Other hunters perhaps found deadlier prey. He’d let the strangers pass and wouldn’t cause a fuss or give them any reason to have contact with them.

_"I’ll have your head on a pike, dog!”_

_What?_

Ciel’s head jerked around just in time to see five men, covered head to toe in steel and hide armor chasing a barreling, black mass of _fur._ Coming straight towards him.

Run.

_Run!_

With a quick movement, Ciel swung his bow back over his shoulder, knowing full well he couldn’t fight whatever the hell this was. It was too fast, too big. Ciel took off running, boots digging marks into the underbrush as he tore through any part of the foliage that would give way for him. 

He was small. He was fast. He could make it. 

Fuck dinner. He needed to make it home _alive._

One look over his shoulder was his first mistake. Perhaps his last. As fast and nimble as he was, this thing was _faster._ The beast gained on him faster than he could have ever imagined. Now _he_ was the prey.

Ciel sidestepped to dodge an impact.

Too slow.

The giant thing collided with him and knocked the wind from his lungs. Something tried to shove him aside. He struggled and pushed back before he heard a snarl and saw nothing but black and red and _blood._

Ciel screamed at the top of his frail little lungs. He felt pain unlike anything he’d ever known. Both of his eyes shot open— no, not both. He couldn’t open one. Couldn’t _see._ Was practically choking on the hot wetness cascading from his head and into his nose and mouth. In a haze of pain and blood he saw the blurred face of a wolf and big teeth that dripped with red. A ton and a half of fur and muscle pinned him to the forest floor, threatening to snap his bones. 

No, no, _no!_ Not a _werewolf—_ it wasn’t even a full moon! It was the middle of the day!

 _Fuck! Fuck!_ Ciel’s hand lunged for the red vial, wriggling and writhing enough to free his arm, and smashed the vial against the beast’s face. 

A meager hiss and a snarl of pain. Ri’saad’s poison didn’t work. It just just pissed it off. Rancid, slobbery and _hot_ breath wafted into his face. Those enraged, bright red eyes bore into him. Teeth grazed his already mutilated face, ready to snap. 

Then a shot of a crossbow, and the beast howled in agony. It huffed and roared before slumping forward and _off_ of the little boy underneath it. The hunters whooped in delight and gave a congratulatory shout of, _'Yes, it’s bleeding!'_

Ciel gasped for breath as he was finally freed of the beast’s grasp, scrambling to his hands and knees before wincing in pain and falling to his side, letting out a hacking cough as he spat the blood from his mouth. His head swam and his hand throbbed— what little he could see was blurry and warped. He saw that mass of fur retreating further into the treeline with a limp, a crossbow bolt clean through its ankle. Three of the five hunters dashed after it, practically shouting congratulations to each other. The others stayed behind, shadowed forms leaning over Ciel with nothing but a furrow between their brows. One rolled Ciel onto his back and pulled him to lean against the nearest rock. 

Ciel’s head lolled to his shoulder. One of the hunters roughly gripped at his now-matted hair and forced his head to the side. Ciel could feel the hunter prodding at the wound in a weak attempt at inspection. Ciel forced one eye to stay open, heavy eyelid twitching with the effort. 

“Nasty,” the hunter said, lips quirking as he stared at the dripping blood and gaping skin on Ciel’s face. “Is that bone?” he asked, pointing to the area where the wound was deepest.

The hunter’s companion kicked his boot, impatiently pulling his fur hood back over his head. “We’ve got a dog to skin, Kadir! We can’t waste any time on this! He’s dead, anyway!”

Kadir shrugged nonchalantly, his armor clanking softly as steel plates hit each other. “Sorry, kid. Wrong place, wrong time.”

“I’ll fucking say. Just leave him.”

“What if he turns?”

“We’ll come back to kill him then. Better to die like this than become a trophy.”

"Fair enough. Let’s go.”

And they did. They left him there, slumped against a boulder and bleeding, running to catch up with their fellow beast slayers without so much as a second glance.

Ciel tipped his head back, closed his one remaining eye, and _cried._


	2. Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the werewolf's attack...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel so bad for making Ciel suffer like this but... c'est la vie! :3

Still shaking and crying, Ciel managed to lift his head and lean away from the rock, arching his back to stare at the ground. He tried and tried to use his one working eye to focus on the dirt below him, to gain some sort of clarity back. But everything seemed shifted and off, and it took longer than he wanted for shapes to come together and become clear. He took a deep breath and swallowed the urge to vomit at the sight of all of _his_ blood littering the grass and dirt. Ciel brought his trembling hand close to his face, almost gagging as he finally noticed little pieces of glass and dozens of cuts littering his palm. He couldn’t tell what was glass from the bottle and what was blood. Very little of the skin of his palm could be seen… just red. 

Tipping his head back to the sky, he reminded himself that all he needed to do was bind his wounds and go home. He could take care of everything there. He had his salves and medicine all tucked away. 

Ciel stood on trembling knees and inspected his surroundings, spotting his fallen bow only a few feet from where he was shoved, sending a prayer of thanks to the heavens that it was safe. He had a knife he carried in his boot, but his prowess with that was nothing compared to his skill with a bow. He swung it over his shoulder and followed his ears to find where his favorite creek was. He’d always stopped at it when he hunted; clean and gentle-flowing water had many uses. 

_Walking_ was so much more difficult than he had planned. His depth perception was so far off that he stumbled and tripped over almost everything he came across. At this rate, he’d fall and break his ankle before actually getting to the creek. Every nearby tree or rock outcropping was used as a crutch until he finally reached his destination.

He almost cried in relief when he fell to his knees at the water’s edge. Ciel threw down his bow and shrugged his quiver from his shoulders, leaning down to cup his unblemished hand in the cool stream. The cold water was nearly heavenly to his dry throat.

He immediately set to work on his hand, bringing it within inches of his face, squinting in his struggle to see any pieces of glass sticking up from his skin. Bit by bit, piece by piece, shard by _agonizing_ shard, Ciel plucked them free, discarding them into the stream before him. He cursed his own stupidity for trying to use Ri’saad’s poison against a _werewolf._ He wasted the damn thing and only injured himself in the process. There was no way in hell it hurt the beast at all. 

His eye came next. He had to clean the wound quickly, knowing full well that if he left it to fester, it would for sure either kill him or it would rot. A scar would be better than either of those two options. 

The moment his hand touched his face, he let out a wrenching scream. 

“Gods—” he began, gritting his teeth as he decided he would brave through the pain. Ciel dipped his hands into the water, over and over again, bringing them to his face each time to clear away what muck he could.

He sunk into the dirt when he couldn’t bear it any longer, screaming out choked, sputtered curses and grunts of deafening pain. His blood thundered in his ears.

Ciel knew what to do to survive, how to treat wounds— it was how he was raised. He was raised to be a hunter and an alchemist, but none of his injuries ever rivaled this. At worse, he sprained his wrist or got bit by a stray animal that did nothing more than graze skin. But… really? A _werewolf?_ That thing was too big to be a regular wolf. It was shaped wrong, like it was bipedal. Pure black, too… unlike the timber and grey wolves native to these parts of the country. 

The water before him was so clear, so reflective. It would be so easy to see it, to gauge what damage was done. But did he want to? Did he want to see it, and perhaps cause himself to panic?

Fuck it. He’d see it sooner or later.

Ciel leaned over the edge of the grassy ledge and peered into crystal blue, the light catching on its gentle ripples and reflecting exactly what Ciel wanted it to.

His heart pounded and he wanted to cry at the sight. Four distinct gashes started at his temple and sliced through the side of his face, the end of one streak catching on his upper lip. He couldn’t even imagine the scar that would be left. 

Trembling fingers pressed to his eyelid. He felt between the gashes left by the monster’s claws and tried to lift the skin, only to recoil back with a low hiss. 

He shook his head. He shouldn’t linger on it. He should just go home… with one eye. Take the time to rest and heal properly. Maybe his eye was fine, just scratched up. His mother was technically correct to be worried, but Ciel hadn’t lied. The guards weren’t the problem. 

Ciel reached to his neck and unclasped his half-cloak. He laid it next to him and drew his knife out of his boot, cutting two good-sized strips. Anything to stop the bleeding while he went home. He wrapped it around his head and tightly secured it, ignoring the throb it caused. Next was his hand. He picked up the other strip he had cut, looping it around his palm and between his fingers until there was hardly any give, not even enough for him to flex his hand too much. 

After one last drink of water and a deep breath, Ciel stood and gathered his things once more. He should go home and run into his mother’s arms.

But a thought nagged at the back of his mind. He didn’t kill anything to bring home for supper. The bottom line was that he went out despite his mother’s concerns, nearly lost his life, and would come home with nothing. “Damn it,” he sighed. Coming home with nothing to show for his suffering would only add salt to the wound. Maybe that pheasant was still clucking around somewhere. 

He had to bring home _something,_ that was for sure.

Ciel wandered for another few minutes, glad the searing pain had died down even a little bit. It was just a sharp throb now. Then he spotted it. A lone rabbit squatting down between two bushes, its long foot scratching at its twitching nose. Even if it was small and would only feed his family for a day, it would have to do. Anything helped at that point. 

He drew his bow from his back and nocked his arrow, just like he did earlier this afternoon, evening out his shaky breathing to draw the string back. It took every ounce of will to ignore the stinging pain in his hand that protested his movements. He narrowed the one eye he had left and focused all of his energy into one shot.

Rabbits were small and incredibly skittish, more so than deer. Any miscalculation would cause it to run off.

Ciel released the arrow after he was sure of his shot.

“Fuck!”

He swore at the top of his lungs when the arrow grazed the rabbit’s fur and instead embedded itself in the tree trunk. The poor thing went _running._

This was his only chance. He didn’t have the energy to find anything else. 

Ciel took off running after it, snatching his knife from his boot. He followed that rabbit with each thump of its little feet-- followed it and followed it until he thought he was going to collapse, keeping his eye on the gaining space between them.

Until he threw it all to Oblivion in one moment of desperation.

He dug his heels into the dirt and leapt at it. All of his weight crashed into the ground and the poor thing, driving the tip of his knife into its neck. His heart nearly broke at the tiny squeak it emitted before falling still. 

Ciel’s throat felt as dry as the great deserts as he panted in the aftermath. His head spun and throbbed as he stood up on his shaking knees, picking up his meager prey and wrapping it up in a piece of linen reserved for exactly this. He gauged the weight… maybe only six pounds. Enough for a single meal for the three of them. 

He swore under his breath. It would have to do for now. 

-=-=-=-=-=-

It was dark by the time he reached the city gates, walking slowly and with heavy strides. His body was far beyond any point of exhaustion he’d ever known. Ciel’s eye throbbed more than before, even… When did that happen?

It didn’t matter. He was going home. 

A guard’s rough hand shoved against his chest and Ciel was sure he’d fall over. “Reason for entering the city?”

“I’m going home,” he said softly, keeping his head down and hood up.

“Family name?”

“Phantomhive. We’re in the Wind District.” He knew the questions needed to be asked... he was a suspicious-looking traveler practically limping to the city gates. He just wanted to shove his way in. But he knew there was a good chance he'd be detained for it.

Ciel could hear the guard’s voice hum at his answer. “Make eye contact while an authority figure is asking you questions.”

The boy reluctantly looked up at the gruff woman, his one visible eye dark and drooping.

Her eyes caught his face and immediately nodded.

The city gate was opened for him and he wanted to run as fast as he could to his house, to his door, into his family’s arms. But he couldn’t run, not any longer... his body would give out, he knew that much. He knew his limits. How much blood had he lost?

The fancy district name was reserved for the upper district of the city that was home to above-average folk as well as the temple and guild's hall. But that meant hills and stairs to get to it; with each step Ciel took, the worse he got, and he prayed for either a miracle to get him to his house or to put out of his misery. No late-night passers-by paid any mind to him. None stopped to ask if he needed help, even as he leant against lamp posts to catch his breath. Typical.

It seemed like hours, like the sun would come up at any given moment, until he finally reached his home, nestled in a corner of the district. It never felt so far away. 

A weak hand knocked on the oak door. “Mother…” was the small voice. 

The door flew open and Rachel’s shining face greeted him, her lips curled in a smile, her arms open and ready to welcome her son home before her expression dropped to the darkest ocean.

Her arms just barely caught her son before he collapsed, his small frame intensely shaking in her embrace. He was content with the knowledge she would be at the door within seconds; she always waited for him when he went hunting. “Ciel! Oh, my baby— Ann! _Ann!”_ she screamed, and her call was answered by the tap-tap-tapping of running feet, heels clicking on the wooden stairs.

“What’s all the screaming about?” the woman asked before her eyes, too, flew wide. “Lay him down! Immediately!”

Ciel was surprised he even made it this far. He never noticed the wound started bleeding again. Never noticed warmth sliding down his cheek and seeping through his makeshift bandage.

Before he knew it, he was laid down on his bed, his mother nearly incomprehensible as she babbled and held his uninjured hand in her long-nailed grip. Ann cupped his face in her hands, warm eyes frantically darting around as she mumbled a plan. 

“Rachel,” she snapped, looking towards her frantic sister. “Rachel!”

“What?” his mother asked, her voice equally sharp.

“Get me a bowl of water and lots of rags. Go!”

“But—”

“Now!”

Rachel swallowed hard before dashing to the kitchen, holding the front of her long skirt up so she didn’t trip. Ann turned back to her nephew, still frantic, and reached for the nearest bottle of wine, leaving Ciel’s grasp for just a moment. She popped the cork from the slim neck and held it to Ciel’s lips, carefully cradling the back of his head.

“Drink, drink,” she cooed quickly, watching as he took three, four big gulps of sanguine alcohol. “Good,” Ann said. “Now brace yourself.” 

Ciel clenched his one working eye shut, immediately knowing what came after. “Just get it— get it over with!”

A scream ripped through the small house. Tears leaked anew as wine was poured onto the werewolf’s scratch, a hair-raising burning sensation violently shooting to every single nerve he had in his face. Ciel’s chest heaved and heaved with his labored breathing, resisting the urge to wipe away his blood and tears. 

Ann pressed a hand to his chest once his screaming subsided. She observed the grotesque bubbling noise that erupted from the wound, satisfied in the knowledge most of the infectious germs would be practically burned off. She gave his chest a gentle pat. Ann soothed him with gentle _tut-tut-tuts_ until his breathing began to even.

Her voice was a little calmer now, and she asked gently, “What happened?”

Ciel’s breath was shuddering as he tried to keep his eye open. His voice was weak and groggy. “...wolf…” 

“A wolf?” she asked, her question nearly gasped out in confusion. Her nephew had gone against wolves before and always came away from it unscathed, or nearly unscathed. It was hard for her to believe a common wolf could do such a thing to him. 

“Were… wolf—” Ciel let out a hacking cough. “Werewolf... Auntie.”

Her brows furrowed together. “Werewolf?” she repeated, like she didn’t understand what he said. 

Ciel nodded as best he could.

“By the Divines, I’m glad you weren’t _killed_ — what was a werewolf doing out in the middle of the day?”

Without his consent, tears began to leak from his eye. His shoulders shook. “I don’t… know,” he squeaked. Ciel swallowed hard and tried to move, only to have his aunt push him back down, a gentle hand on his shoulder. He groaned. “Rabbit— rabbit in my bag.”

Anne let out a deep sigh, reaching to gently pull the satchel from over his shoulder and set it on the ground at her feet, just in time to hear Rachel returning from the kitchen. In her hands she gripped a big bowl of warm water, and a half dozen linen rags slung over her elbow. She rushed to her son’s side, though she was careful not to spill what was in her arms. 

Anne pulled the rabbit from Ciel’s satchel, a small smile playing on her painted lips. “You got hurt, and you _still_ brought us a kill?” 

Ciel let out a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry. It’s not… enough.”

Rachel wasted no time in reaching for her son’s hand again once she set down her burden, the mattress dipping with her weight as she sat down next to him. “Oh, Ciel, baby, we’ll be fine. We’ll get food from the market.”

He hated that answer. He needed to provide for his family, whatever that took, and he failed miserably. 

“You did wonderful,” his mother cooed. But her voice shook. 

“Just try to relax, Ciel,” his aunt assuaged him, “Everything will be fine.”

Anne dipped that soft cloth into the clear water and began to work away at the scabbed blood, clearing away gunk until she could see clearly just how bad the wound was. 

A gasp left the doctor’s throat. Gentle hands gingerly pressed to the skin of his forehead, wrenching a horrible sob from the boy.

“Bone,” she said, no air even in her tone as she spoke. “It hit bone.”

Rachel nearly leaped from the bed. 

Ciel swallowed back gunks of saliva, licking his dry lips as he choked out, “Can— can you stitch it?”

She shook her head. “A few of them are too mangled to sew, darling. But I’ll try. I’m sorry. It’ll be a long process.”

Ciel was lost to time and pain as the minutes passed by, clenching his mother’s hand in his fist when the pain bit at him like a scorpion’s sharp pang. Each one of those pure white rags came away almost black. 

Finally, with the clotting blood and muck cleared away, she could see just how bad everything was. Her breath caught in her throat, her hands grew clammy. “I’ll stitch what I can,” she said, swallowing hard. She had Rachel fetch her medical kit that held all of her things and fished out a needle and thread, as well as a thick piece of leather used for her patients to bite down on when the pain would be too much.

Ciel shook his head as she held it in front of his mouth.

“I can’t give you anesthetic, darling. It’s going to hurt.”

Teary and wide-eyed, Ciel pleaded with her, “Just _hurry,_ aunt, please!” 

She wordlessly nodded, to him, “Bear with it, then. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

Ann didn’t waste any time at all, working with utmost precision to drive the sharp needle through red and irritated skin, pulling as many gaping wounds shut as she could. She kept her hands from shaking, but she was uncertain-- she had no idea how long he’d been out there, bleeding and terrified, didn’t know if infection had already set in, besides her rushed application of alcohol. She couldn’t take any chances. 

Rachel held her son’s hand in her long-nailed grip, running her fingers up and down his wrist, over the back of his palm, all the while her foot tapped polished wooden floors in unrest. Nothing but pure anxiety and dread rushed through every fibre of her being. What if he died? What if their care wasn’t enough? 

Rachel choked back tears as she watched her son wince in pain with each poke of the needle. “What could do this?” she asked with as much tenderness as she could muster in her voice, but her tone cracked. 

Ann answered her quietly and shortly, a heavy strain on her voice. “Werewolf. Somewhere in the Pine Forest.”

She couldn’t believe her heart could fall any lower, or pound any faster. Rachel's pulse was in her throat and choking her up, pounding and pounding and _pounding,_ like it would leap from her chest at any moment. Her body and mind were in overdrive and working against each other at the same time, wanting somehow, someway, to _help._ She wanted to be the one to nurse Ciel back to health. But she knew nothing of medicine to help in practicality, and would inevitably have to leave it to Ann and any other healers that would step in. Rachel could only offer her motherly love, though maybe that was enough. Mothers could help with bumps and bruises and kissing tears away, but a werewolf’s mutilation?

Rachel knew the legends. Myths spread among the common people like magefire. If a werewolf bit or scratched a victim, they would turn, too, and take on the form of a beast. People spoke of a type of venom in the werewolves’ claws. It didn’t matter if it made sense— it was big and it _scared people._

Her eyes shot open at the realization. Ciel’s only wound from the werewolf itself was a _scratch._

“Ann,” she whispered, “What can we do? To stave off the infection?”

“There won’t be an infection if we clean it well enough,” she answered, level-headed and quick. 

“No! Ann, an _infection!_ What if he could be afflicted with—with—”

“I don’t know.”

“How soon could we be able to tell?”

 _“I don’t know!”_ Ann snapped, whipping her head around to her sister, catching the woman mid-breath. “Rachel. Let me work.” 

Rachel lowered her head in submission, wiping gathering tears with the back of her hand before returning her attention to her son. He was the most important, after all, she couldn’t afford to go into hysterics and worsen his already fragile state. 

“Fuck! _Aah—!”_ Ciel nearly screamed when he felt the needle go through the tender skin near his eye, where flesh had been torn from bone, where the beast’s claws went deepest. 

Ann almost stopped at the sound. She persisted, though, mumbling small apologies. Anaesthetic would make this process so much easier, but she knew it was too late for such things. She worked quickly and diligently to finish off what she could, tying off the suture thread. 

“Aunt—” he forced out, tears absolutely _streaming_ down his face. “I— I can’t—”

“Shh,” she cooed, stroking his unblemished cheek with the back of her hand. “We’re done. We’re done, my darling.”

His body shivered in relief, squeezing his mother’s hand in a death grip as Ann brought another cloth to his sutures, clearing away fresh blood that surfaced with the irritation of his wounds. Tears never stopped falling at the push and wipe of each movement, the soft cloth feeling like sandpaper on his wounds. 

“I’m sorry, darling, I tried to make it as painless as possible.” A turpentine-soaked wrap was secured around his head. His head throbbing with both excruciating pain and the guilt that came with his actions. 

He could have just stayed home. He didn’t have to go out. But he brought home food, though, didn’t he? Ciel tried to think through any and all positives tonight had. But even the simple action of _thinking_ made him want to roll over and sink into Oblivion. 

“Your other hand, please, Ciel,” Ann gently cooed, her fingers stroking along his forearm that was clenched to his chest. He reluctantly gave it to her, painstakingly unfurling his hastily-wrapped hand. The uncovered skin was swollen and red.

Ann easily untied the knot that held the wrapping together, murmuring apologies at each and every wince that forced itself between Ciel’s clenched teeth.

He'd missed a few shards of the poison bottle’s glass in his attempt to take care of it himself. She reached into her kit for the smallest of tools to pinch tiny pieces of glass from Ciel’s tender hand. The poison had eaten away and somewhat burnt a few layers of skin, but luckily it wasn’t potent enough to do much more than that.

She didn’t ask what it was from. Those questions would come later. 

Any time she nursed her nephew back to health, she would hum a comforting melody, a gentle ballad he’d known all his life. But she was too worried, too focused on keeping herself calm, to do any of the sort as she took her needle and thread back in her hands to sew the gashes shut. Luckily hands were easier to sew than faces. 

Rachel didn’t flinch in his death grip. Her eyes remained focused on him and never wavered.

Finally, the procedure was over, and Ann wrapped fresh bandages around Ciel’s hand, securing them tightly. “Ciel,” she called gently, her face soft and patient, waiting for Ciel to regard her. “I need you to rest, alright? No hunting, no shooting, no alchemy, until that starts to heal. Can you do that?”

A groan came from the boy. “Aunt…”

“I said what I said. _Rest._ You’re a pain when you don’t follow my instructions.”

He didn’t say anything more. He didn’t need to. Ciel rolled over onto his side, away from the open room and towards the wooden wall, careful not to nudge his freshly-wrapped hand as he pulled the fur blankets over his body.

A heaving sigh left Ann’s lips, ready to reprimand her nephew for such a rude dismissal, but she held her tongue. He’d been through enough as it was, and a lecture from his aunt would only be salt in his wounds.

Rachel pulled herself together and stood up, leaning over her boy and pressing a kiss to Ciel’s covered shoulder. She whispered a small word of encouragement, and a small prayer, brushing sweat-sticky ashen hair away from his face. Maybe she’d help him trim it tomorrow. It looked like pieces of it were sliced away during the attack. 

“Everything’s going to be alright, my little fox,” she soothed, even if she was unconvinced of it herself. The confident words came with a shuddering tone. 

“Rachel,” her sister called, nudging her arm as she took the bloodied rags and nearly black water bowl in her hands. “Let’s talk.”

The woman hastily nodded and followed Ann into the washroom to discard her bloodied burden. The moment both of them were out of eye and earshot from Ciel, Rachel _broke._ She wailed and gripped onto Ann’s shoulders, staring into her eyes, trying her damndest to find some sort of comfort or consolation. Answers. Reassurance and peace that could only truly come from the gods.

“I failed, Ann, I should’ve tried harder to keep him home! I can’t lose my baby! I can’t—”

“Rachel!” she nearly had to shout. "We’ll keep him here, watch and care for him and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. That’s all we can do for now.” 

“But— it was a _werewolf,_ Ann!” she hissed, “He could be infected, right? You’re a doctor!”

“I’m a doctor, not a damn witch! I know _legends,_ not _facts!_ I can’t deal with _what ifs,_ Rachel! This is Ciel we’re talking about!”

“I can’t have my baby turning into a monster!”

“I don’t want my nephew like that, either!” She felt stupid fighting with her sister like they were little girls again, shouting back and forth when Ciel’s livelihood was on the line. His life. _Their_ lives. Ann bit at her lip and swallowed hard. “Look… we can take him to the temple in a few days, see what the priests can do. Danica should know more than I do about if lycanthropy can be transferred by a scratch. Alright?”

Rachel didn’t reply. She clutched at her locket and rubbed the engraving on it, worrying the finely-chiseled design in the shape of Stendarr’s insignia, a sacred drinking horn— the god of luck, mercy, and justice. She’d need all the luck Stendarr could give her to get through this. To get _Ciel_ through this.

Mercy for Ciel to go through as little pain as possible, and justice to let that beast be slain in the most brutal way possible. 

“Rachel,” she snapped, displeased with her lack of an immediate answer. “Can you accept that answer?”

A long pause. Rachel stared at her sister, her hands absently scratching at her arms, until her answer came to her. Quiet and reserved, almost whimpering. “Yes.”


	3. The Gathering Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two days passed with Ciel’s increasing irritation, Rachel’s growing paranoia, and a desperate Aunt Ann frequently changing bandages while simultaneously trying to keep the peace between mother and son. The third day, Rachel’s paranoia reached a breaking point. She demanded to see the temple priests.

Weepy and covered in sweat, Ciel shot up in bed, a pathetic whimper wrenching itself from his dry throat.

Everything _hurt._

His mother was immediately at his side, nearly crushing the air from his lungs in her fretful embrace. “Baby,” she babbled in his ear, “Oh, my darling, I was worried sick for you! You were tossing and turning all night!”

Ann was there in a moment, nearly shooing her away from the boy with a frustrated look on her face. The physician side of her surely kicked in, and it would most likely stay that way until Ciel was better. “The last thing he needs is your suffocation, Rachel.”

His mother reluctantly let go of him, pulling back to examine his face, stroking her thumb over his uninjured cheek. It was pale and clammy. The bandages were nearly soaked through with blood from overnight.

“How do you feel?” Ann cooed, smoothing his sweat-soaked hair down against his head. 

All of the coddling made his mood worse. It made him feel sick to his stomach. 

“Hurts,” he said simply, his voice blunt and scratchy. 

Ann nodded, “I thought so. Come, let’s get you some breakfast and I’ll change your bandages.”

He followed her lead, more out of his desire to make _her_ feel better than his own convenience, dragging himself out of bed, with a groan at the effort of it. All of his joints ached like the elders in town with their creaky bones, like he’d hiked a mountain in the dead of winter. His skull throbbed and pounded, it felt like his head would split open. 

Aunt Ann took his arm and led him to sit at the dining table, slipping a pillow beneath his bum to soften his seat. Any slightest bit of comfort would go a long way. 

“How bad does your head hurt? And your hand?”

Ciel gave her no verbal response, only stared blankly at her, hoping his dejected expression was enough to tell. He winced as his brow creased.

Ann only regarded him sympathetically, nodding to him before she retrieved another roll of bandages and a jar of special salve that Ciel had mixed up himself. The boy looked at it with dread as she sat it down in front of him. Emperor moss, beeswax and gleamblossom mixed together with grapeseed oil made a smooth paste to promote healing. He only hoped it would work on such deep wounds. He’d only tested it on minor hunting injuries so far.

“Alright, darling, let’s change those bandages, and you can tell us what happened.” 

Ciel didn’t respond to her. His eyelids felt heavy. His bones ached to lie down. He just woke up and he was already exhausted. Ciel let her do as she pleased, already dreading the impending pain of taking off those blood-encrusted bandages. Most of the bleeding had come to a stop now that the biggest gashes were sewn shut. Any remaining blood that seeped from between the sutures had dried and stuck the linen to his skin. 

His aunt undid the tight knot she secured at the back of his head, mumbling her apologies again as he winced and jerked in her grasp. A sick sound broke their relative silence when linen was peeled from skin.

Once they were off, Ann and Rachel took a look at him. Their faces didn’t ease Ciel’s mind at all. Furrowed brows and parted lips. 

“How does it look?” Ciel asked, afraid of the answer by the way his voice trembled.

“Not good,” Ann told him, blunt as could be. She cupped the uninjured side of his face and tilted his chin so his injuries caught the light shining through the windows.

No fresh blood. Good. It didn’t shine and glisten against the light. The dried blood was dull. “At least it isn’t bleeding any longer.” She let go of his cheek and kept her tone gentle and low, “Now I’ll just clean it again and—”

Remembering the feel of linen, like sandpaper, against his raw skin, he shook his head. “Just… new bandages. Please.”

Ann opened her mouth to object, but immediately closed it, deciding against further prodding until Ciel was in a better mood to tolerate it. As much as she wanted to dote over him and make sure everything was perfect, she had to take his mental state into account as well. “Very well,” she conceded, and set to work applying the thick salve to his wounds before wrapping linen bandages around his head, just like last night.

Rachel was watching intently, a twitch between her brows as she restrained herself from enveloping her son in a bone-crushing hug that would last for as long as the universe would let her, even wanting to just hold his hand as Ann worked. But he wasn’t a child anymore, and didn’t need, or frankly want, that kind of coddling.

She could never express how grateful she was that her son had come home. Not many survive encounters with werewolves, of all creatures. It would be a while before things returned to normal, but she could deal with that. As long as he was still breathing. 

Her tongue ran over her dry, cracked lips. “What happened, baby?” Rachel asked, her hands trembling before she tucked them beneath her arms. 

Ciel took in a deep breath and ignored the throb in his hand. Those bandages, too, were peeled off and discarded. “I went into the forest, everything was fine. But…” he watched blankly, numbly, as Ann smoothed a thick layer of paste onto his sutures. “I found a pheasant. I planned on bringing home a few of them. Then I heard growling and the odd sound of a few men… cheering. They were angry, but _cheering.”_

He could practically feel the women’s gazes on him, silently begging him to elaborate.

“Then I saw it. I turned to look and this giant-- giant _wolf_ was just _running_. I couldn’t tell if it was running away from them or towards me, but I tried to run, too. I wasn’t fast enough.”

Rachel spoke next. “Don’t berate yourself for that. You’re fast, baby, faster than anyone I know. But that—that _thing—_ was unnatural.” 

Quiet and defeated came the whisper of, “I know.”

“Continue, darling.”

He swallowed thickly. “The rest was just a blur. It all happened in a matter of seconds. I was just bleeding… couldn’t see. And the group that was after it…” he stopped for a moment to take a breath. “Two stayed behind and just looked at me. Wondered if they should kill me or if I’d die in there. Then… left.” Ciel’s brows furrowed in confusion, and looked up, right into his mother’s eyes. Like he was looking for an answer. “It was like they thought it was… pure sport. Just a game.”

Ann looked up from her work. “I hope whoever was after it killed it.”

“Me too. I wonder what made it transform in the middle of the day,” Rachel pondered aloud.

“I don’t think I care at this point,” Ciel answered, watching Ann tie his hand wrapping. “I must’ve passed out afterwards, because I woke up and they were gone. All of them.”

Rachel finally stood up once Ann finished with her work, pressing kiss after kiss to Ciel’s hair, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “I’m glad you came home. You might have bled out if you slept for much longer.”

He swallowed hard, taking his unblemished hand and resting it over one of hers. “Me too, mama.”

Rachel smiled, heart swelling at the affectionate name. She smoothed his loose hair in between her fingers, combing through the small tangles so it laid nicely down his back. Ciel leaned into the touch, sighing in relief at the familiar gesture. His mother’s long nails scratched comfortably at his scalp, and he found his eyelid growing heavy.

His body beckoned him to sleep again, and he stared at his bed in longing. The plush furs and thick linens all but cried out for him to fall back into his bed. 

Before he knew it, a bowl of stew was set in front of him, accompanied by his aunt’s hand passing him a spoon. The enticing scents of spices and savory meat swirled together in the room and made his mouth water. 

Aunt Ann chuckled. “Hungry?”

As much as his body ached, genuine food was a welcome comfort. He hadn’t noticed just how hungry he was— the pain overshadowed it. It overshadowed everything. 

He didn’t hesitate to dig into the meal before him, a deep sigh leaving him, his shoulders deflating at the taste. Rabbit, of course. Of course it would be made from what he caught. 

Half of the bowl was down his gullet before his name was called, soft as could be.

“Ciel?”

The boy looked up from his meal, brows furrowing at the cautionary tone. As if Rachel was afraid of asking something. “Huh?”

“What happened to your hand? What was that glass from?”

Ciel swallowed another bite of stew before answering just as quietly. “Poison bottle.”

“Where—”

Ann interrupted her sister. “What was in it?” To her, what the poison contained was far more important than where it came from at the moment. 

“Nightshade, Nirnroot, deathbell, and red mountain flower.”

She shook her head. “If there had been jarrin root… I shudder to think what your hand would look like. It’s becoming more common in poisons.”

Rachel stared at the side of her son’s face, taking a seat next to him. “Ciel, where did you get that? You didn’t make it here, right? You don’t have poison recipes.”

Ciel was quiet for the moment, biting at his lip. Of course he knew how to make poison. Anything used for medicine, in the right dosages, could wreak havoc on the body. He cleared his throat. “Caravan outside town.”

His mother’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t like that cat.”

“He’s _nice,_ mother.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that he’s a thief and a smuggler.”

Ciel’s face scrunched up, anger bubbling in his chest. “That’s not fair and you know it. You’ve never even talked to him before.”

Ann cleared her throat to interrupt them as Rachel opened her mouth again. This was the worst time to have a mother-son argument over a simple merchant. Ann knew Ciel was fond of Ri’saad, and Rachel was against it. She shared most people’s opinions of the cat folk— untrustworthy, and they had a reputation for being degenerates. Drug addicts, thieves, cheats, and liars. That’s why they were banned from conducting their trading inside city walls; the land rulers didn’t trust them.

But Ciel did. Maybe unwisely so. 

Ciel kept eye contact with his mother, refusing to back down. He could feel the heat of her frustration.

Ann distracted both of them from their impending argument with another clearing of her throat, promptly standing from her position. She gave a shaky smile, “Come, darling, let’s trim your hair and get you back to bed, hm?”

The boy lowered his gaze, “Yes… that sounds good.” 

“Good,” she sighed. “Rachel, would you like the honors?”

Rachel’s mood lifted with a deep breath. She nodded, and stood once Ann handed her the trimming shears, used primarily for Rachel’s sewing. The woman made her way back to Ciel, ignoring the way he didn’t speak to her. Another deep sigh left her as she ran her fingers once more through Ciel’s hair, her heart once again in her throat. She knew she shouldn’t have said anything. Her son didn’t so much as twitch at her touch.

She leaned down to say to him, gently, the only thing she could say to perhaps lift his anger. “Ciel… I love you, but you know I disagree with your decisions sometimes.”

“I know,” he replied. Blunt and cold. 

The next hour proceeded in strained silence. Ciel always prided himself on his long hair that he usually drew back into an elegant braid. It wrapped around his head like a crown, a pretty prince. But now, since the beast’s attack, some of the beautiful ashen hair had been sliced away. Rachel combed out the matted tangles that resulted from his tossing and turning in his sleep before she trimmed around what had been chopped away by the werewolf’s claws. She expertly cut and thinned the gentle cascade of blue-grey to perfectly lay partly over his injured eye and fall nicely across his shoulders.

Ciel swallowed hard and forced out a thanks. “I appreciate it, mother.”

Lips pressed to the top of his head in silent acceptance. She knew she couldn’t push anything. “Let’s get you to bed, Ciel, you need more rest.”

He didn’t argue. With his injuries, he figured that he wouldn’t leave the house for a few days… perhaps a week. Just long enough that his mother and aunt wouldn’t be paranoid about his every move. He went quietly, allowing himself to be tucked into bed like a toddler all over again. 

“If things don’t get better, darling… we’ll go to the temple. See what Danica can do.”

-=-=-=-=-=-

Two days passed with Ciel’s increasing irritation, Rachel’s growing paranoia, and a desperate Aunt Ann frequently changing bandages while simultaneously trying to keep the peace between mother and son. Even with the passing hours, rolls of bandages, and applications of salve, Ciel’s wound continued to be stagnant. His skin didn’t fade from its angry red, and bled on the occasion, even when they were sure it wouldn’t anymore. 

The third day, Rachel’s paranoia reached a breaking point. She demanded to see the temple priests.

Against Ciel’s will, he was dragged from his bed and forced out the front door. The sunlight nearly blinded him as he stepped outside. He hadn’t been out of the house in nearly three whole days, only viewed the sun through the foggy window. 

With a woman on each arm, Ciel was helped from the house to the temple in their district. Luckily it wasn’t a long walk at all, but it was still humiliating. 

Rachel was first through the door, with Ann and Ciel directly behind her. 

“Danica,” she called, recognizing the woman immediately, even in her basic priest’s robes, a dual tone of yellow and orange tied with a simple rope cord.

The priestess turned around at the call, a smile spreading across her slightly wrinkled face. The beginnings of a greeting left her thin lips before her smile dropped to dead weight when she saw Ciel and all his injured glory. 

She wasted no time in laying him down on one of the healing beds surrounding the ceremonial pool, making sure he was as comfortable as possible as she inspected his wound. Delicate, aging fingers pulled back the thick bandages that were only applied six hours ago, and she visibly jerked upon seeing the reddened flesh. 

Danica licked her lips before speaking, her brows furrowing so slightly. “May I ask… how you came to have this injury, Ciel?” 

“Werewolf, Danica. A _Werewolf_ _,”_ his mother said, before he could even get a word out. “He got that three days ago while hunting, and… it hasn’t gotten much better.” 

The priestess shook her head, “No, I wouldn’t think so. Rachel, a wound of this magnitude would take weeks to heal. Even the scarring would be...” she cut herself off, taking in a deep breath. “I don’t need to elaborate. You know the effects.”

Ann took a step forward and laid a hand on Ciel’s arm, gently rubbing through his tunic. She looked up at Danica. “We’re worried about infection.”

“It seems to me you’ve been taking care of it wonderfully. I wouldn’t be too concerned as long as you keep—”

Rachel was unable to hold her outburst. “No! _Lycanthropy!_ Can it be transferred through claws? Scratches?”

Danica sighed and glanced over to Rachel, who was now a few steps closer. “Well… it’s not proven—”

Ciel grit his teeth. He shot up from his position, ready to swing himself from the bed. “Then why am I _here?_ I’d rather be _home!”_

Rachel and Ann pushed him back down, even as he struggled. Ann grabbed a fistful of his tunic. “Ciel! You have to stay here, it’s the only way to help! They know more than us!”

The young man ground his teeth, clenching his fists, his heart wanting to make leaps out of his chest. “I don’t fucking care! Take me home! I’m not about to get poked and prodded like an animal!” 

Despite his protests and struggling, he was made to stay there, after a bargain deal: if he agreed to stay, his mother would be less strict and allow him time to wander the town as he healed. That seemed enough to keep him content… for a moment. 

-=-=-=-=-=-

The next few days were spent working with the priests of the temple: the priestess Danica, and her acolyte Jenssen. Ciel didn’t have a particular liking for the man; greasy, defensive, and gruff-voiced, many things a priest _shouldn’t_ be. Nevertheless, together they shared the responsibility of looking after Ciel’s wound and making sure he had plenty of rest, which was exactly how he was being taken care of at home-- with the exception of healing magic. Fluttering, swirling sparkles of light that made his head tingle pleasantly and calmed his wound.

They occasionally let him outside to sit beneath the grand Gildergreen and take in the fresh air. Sitting beneath its sprawling limbs and unique pink foliage was an instant reliever of his more mental stress.

When he was _alone,_ which he rarely was-- even when sleeping he was scarcely left alone, he had to grow used to the feeling of the night guard’s eyes on him. Jenssen warned one of them that he was _volatile._ Made him want to punch the bastard. 

This night was particularly annoying; he tossed and turned into the dark hours, listening to the supposedly “calming” trickle of the healing fountain, the incessant whispering of the guards telling jokes over a game of cards, and the constant fiddling of crickets outside. The only restful sleep he’d gotten is when he was helped to sleep with some powder in his drink. He promptly passed out for twelve hours after that, giving both himself and the people around him a much needed break. 

Ciel took in a deep breath and sat up from his bed of furs and straw, swallowing hard as he stood, the wooden flooring creaking just a bit at the sudden disturbance. If he was sneaky enough, light enough on his feet, he’d find that powder that worked wonders so he could actually sleep. Most of the injured that came through here never needed to stay overnight, so he was alone save for one woman that had contracted rockjoint. She was a heavy sleeper anyway. 

He crept through the temple hallways to find the medicine cabinet, slowly opening the wooden doors to find dozens of glass jars filled with different powders and medicines, and even a few rows of already-mixed potions and salves.

He searched for a good few minutes before coming across exactly what he needed: powdered canis root. A few pinches of that, along with a few juniper berries for taste, and he’d be thrown into a peaceful slumber. Even though he’d be asleep, just like he wanted, he’d prefer not to taste the ashiness that came from a powdered root. 

Ciel quietly loaded up what he needed and took it to his bed, where he stored a water tankard underneath in case of late-night thirst. He quickly mixed his concoction and chugged it down, braving through the horrible texture. He took in a deep breath as he swallowed the last of it, staring into the empty iron of the tankard before storing it down beneath him.

Crawling back into bed, he forced his racing mind to cease and calm for once, trying his best to ignore his anxieties about his family back at home— how worried they were, how he wouldn’t be able to help feed them until he got better. 

With a disgruntled huff, he flipped over to face the cold oak wall and closed his eyes. 

-=-=-=-=-=-

Running. Running. _Running._

He couldn’t stop. He could never stop. Even if his feet bled and his lungs burst, he could never stop running. 

That _thing,_ that big black mass of fur and teeth and blood would tear into his skin and dine on his insides. There would be no mercy of only taking his eye, something he could live without. It would take all of him, make sure there was nothing left to bury.

There were no hunters to go after it, no trained men and women to hunt it down with silver swords and mount its head in their halls.

He was utterly alone.

The growling snarl was closer. He could feel its breath on his neck, feel the too-hot saliva dripping on his clothes. 

He kept running.

Running.

_Snap._

-=-=-=-=-=-

Ciel sat up with a half-scream, quickly blinking open bleary eyes to take in the dark surroundings. No, he wasn’t in the deep forest with a beast on his heels. He was alone in a temple room with one dim candle flickering in the slight draft. It was _suffocating._

Out. _I need out._ Out, out, out, out, _out!_

He threw the blankets off of him and stomped into his boots, not even bothering with a coat as he crept silently, but quickly, to the front door, across the squeaky floorboards and over the healing fountain, shoving the front door open. 

The cold of the outside world wrapped around him like a blanket, welcoming him to a place away from the cramped suffocation of his overseers. 

He didn’t have a destination in mind. He didn’t really want to go home, and he sure as hell didn’t want to be back at the temple. The tavern? A strong drink might do him some good. But he had no money; Aunt Ann took the coins he had. 

So he simply half-walked, half-ran, down the steps of the Wind district and into the marketplace. The merchant’s stalls sat empty and barren, and the beggars lay asleep on their bedrolls. Only the occasional guard stood watch and didn’t pay much attention to him.

As far as he knew… he was free. He could run out into the wilderness, but that thing might still be out there in the forest, ready to catch his scent and finish the job.

A shiver ran up his spine at the thought. He wasn’t ready to make his nightmare a reality.

He continued to walk, aimlessly, until he saw a tall tree that was tall enough to overlook the city walls, towering over the stone that confined him. 

With a quick shake of his head, Ciel took in a breath and flexed his fingers, preparing himself for the slight challenge climbing would pose to him— he hadn’t been able to do anything besides sit, stay, and lay down, like a fucking _dog._

Fingers and boot treads dug into the ashen bark of the tree, without acknowledgment of his stinging hand, grasping onto branches and pulling himself up. He huffed and puffed and swore under his breath: it shouldn’t be _this_ hard. Playing invalid had hindered him more than he ever thought. He used to scale trees twice this large twice as fast.

He finally reached where he needed to, stretching up and using the last bit of strength he had to swing his body over a thick branch, laying back against the strong trunk, legs flung over either side of the branch. 

Comfortable. At peace. At least for a little while.

He stared out into the dark over the bright braziers that lit up the streets. He could see where he had seen Ri’saad that day, bought the poison, and trekked into the Pine forest. 

It was so very easy to get lost in his thoughts; how he could have prevented that chain of events, how he could have avoided the encounter and simply drug home a deer to last his family weeks without having to pay absurd amounts at the market for fresh game. He’d still have his eye. His hand wouldn’t sting from the poison. His mother and aunt wouldn’t be worried sick.

He wondered… did the beast have a mark from that bottle, just like he did?

A sharp calling of his name distracted him from his thoughts, roughly pulling him away from his wistful staring.

“Ciel!” 

He tore his eyes from watching a family of rabbits scamper across the road to look down at the ground below him, right into the eyes of Jenssen. Ciel’s brow furrowed, his face scrunched in annoyance. Danica would’ve been a much better sight. 

“Get down from there, you could get hurt!”

He shouted down to the man, “I’m not a fucking invalid! Leave me alone!”

“You’re not supposed to leave the temple without one of us knowing about it; Danica explicitly told you that,” the man said, arms cross over his robes.

Ciel’s brow twitched. “I know what she said. I needed _air.”_

“You need rest.”

“That’s all I’ve been doing for a week! A straight week! I needed air, Jenssen!”

Jenssen mirrored Ciel’s expression. “You got your air. Now come back.” 

Ciel grumbled a few obscenities into his tunic and slipped from the big branch he rested on, swinging his body down to the branch below, until he got down far enough he could simply jump down.

What he didn’t register was his severe depth perception hindrance. 

It was further down than he believed.

He swung down with a simple grunt, his boots meeting the ground far rougher than he anticipated, catching the wrong foot and lurching back against the tree trunk. 

Jenssen was immediately at his side, grabbing at his shoulders to help him up— Ciel batted him away. “Don’t. Don’t touch me.” 

“You’re being stubborn—”

“Don’t fucking touch me, Jenssen.” He balled up his fists at his sides, fighting the urge to pummel the man and be done with it all. But like a gentleman, no matter how angry he was, he wouldn’t be irrational. It was normal for him to be upset about his peace being shattered. Careful, steadied breaths passed through his nose. 

He was nearly paraded back to the temple, much like in the manner of how he was first brought there. He felt like he was being put to bed like a toddler. Ciel shooed the man away from him and promptly slammed the door to his sleeping quarters.

Why couldn’t Jenssen have left him alone? He’d come back, eventually. Once his head was clear. Now he was forced back into bed with much less genuine _rest_ than he wanted. That horrible nightmare was for nothing. Fucking nothing.

He fell back into his bed with a cursing grumble. 

-=-=-=-=-=-

Ever since his temporary escape, those damn priests made his blood boil. They were constantly checking his temperament and periodically mixing wolfsbane into his food and wine. Tightening his security, too. No more wandering without a guard or a priest with him. 

Today it was worse. Much worse. 

It has been a week since the incident. He had no signs of increased aggression or a sudden sensitivity to wolfsbane, didn’t complain of itchy skin or dry mouth. He didn’t twitch during the full moon. He didn’t crave meat more so than usual. All was well, even the wound had finally stopped bleeding; it no longer needed to be wrapped day in and day out. 

Jenssen was primarily taking care of him for most of the day, as Danica was busy with a short influx of injured laborers from outside the city walls. He had his back turned to Ciel for the first time that day, preparing healing elixirs and wine for the infirm. 

Ciel watched him. He saw the priest mix herbs and powders into glass vials, pour deep red wine into tankards, and… crush something into a different cup. A dusty silver goblet already filled with wine. His nose twitched in suspicion. But he forced his face to appear neutral as Jenssen turned towards him, crossing his legs and sinking into his bench with the utmost informality. He swallowed the last of his bread as Jenssen approached him and pressed the goblet into his hand. 

He didn’t need longer than a second to realize what it was. A goblet wrapped with the silver chain of an amulet.

They hoped he’d flinch. 

Ciel’s eye snapped open. “This is _bullshit!”_ He stood and turned to Jennsen, violently pressing the goblet into his hands, red wine sloshing so slightly over the cup’s edges. “I”m not fucking _cursed.”_

Jenssen reached out to grab his bicep, which was quickly batted away as Ciel stormed to the door. Danica turned from a farmer that she was tending to. “Ciel!” She wiped her bloodied hands on a towel slung over her arm, taking a few steps forward. “You can’t just leave!”

“No! I’m done! I’m fucking done!” He took a deep breath, steadying his anger. His chest heaved with the effort. “I thank you for how you’ve helped me.” He pressed a hand to the engraved wooden door and pushed it open. “But I’m going to set this right. I can’t stay here and play invalid for the next year.”

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my twitter @javajowgie!


End file.
